Jiro Minamoto laid a battle map across the war table and marked the western kingdoms in red. He was Dracula's Master of War, prince of the Minamoto Clan, the sword of the vampire empire. Tonight he meant to prove his clan the mightiest weapon Dracula owned. He would take those kingdoms and lay them at his king's feet. But when he lifted the campaign timetable, the numbers stopped him cold. The march west would cross open ground, in open daylight. His samurai were vampires. Sunlight burned them to ash. Every soldier he sent would fight one night, then cook at dawn like meat on a fire. An army that died at sunrise could conquer nothing. He crushed the timetable in his fist. He drew his blade to think. The katana caught the torchlight, gold and silver, diamonds set along the guard. Steel could not solve this. The sun was older than any sword. He needed magic, and magic in Walachia had a price. He went to his niece. Hanako Tepes received him in her chambers, wrapped in white lace, her wedding veil pooled across the floor for what looked like miles. She was Dracula's second wife now, but Jiro remembered her as the girl he taught to hold a knife. She did not rise. She sharpened her own katana with a slow, even stroke. "Uncle," she said. "You only visit when you want something." "I want your army to survive the sun," Jiro said. "You knelt in the Mother's ritual. You saw witch magic grant vampires daylight." The stone stopped moving. "I pledged one night of my power to that working. One night. It nearly emptied me." "Then teach me how it was done." Hanako set down her blade. "The Mother stores moonlight in objects worn against the skin. Years of it. She spends that store to hold back the sun." She met his eyes. "You cannot buy years, Uncle. Not before your campaign." Jiro felt the plan die in his chest. Then Hanako reached beneath her collar and drew out a strand of small dark stones. Each one held a cold silver gleam. "I gathered these for myself," she said. "Moon-charged. Enough to shield a company. Not an army." She placed them in his palm. "Take them. Test them on your best. If they walk at noon and live, the Mother will make more. If they burn, you will know before you march thousands to their deaths." Jiro closed his hand around the stones. "And your price?" "When you take the west, the Minamoto name goes on the victory. Not Dracula's brides. Ours." She smiled, sharp as her steel. "We were outlawed once. I want them to remember who we became." He bowed. It cost him nothing to agree, and everything if he failed. At dawn Jiro stood one samurai in the open courtyard, the stones tied at the man's throat. The sun crested the wall. Jiro held his breath. The light struck bare skin. The samurai did not burn. He raised his face to the sky and laughed. But smoke curled from the stones themselves. They were already dimming. Jiro had his sunwalkers now, and a reserve that would run dry long before the west was won.